Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] by Marvin H. Albert Page B

beside Clayburn like a shadow. There was no need for whispers or motions between them now. Each new what to do next. Blue picked up the dead guard's rifle and held it ready. Clayburn left him, and the protection of the boulder, lowering himself to the ground and snaking toward the wagons.
        He was almost there when the report of a rifle somewhere off to his left broke the night silence. A lead slug gouged a spout of dirt from the ground six inches from Clayburn's face. He sprang to his feet and sprinted the rest of the way in a low crouch, zigzagging as he ran. As he hit the ropes stretched between two of the wagons, the rifle boomed at him again.
        The bullet chopped into the wagon tailboard next to Clayburn's shoulder. In the same instant Blue fired, aiming at the guard's rifle flash.
        Clayburn saw the shadowy figure of a man detach itself from a boulder. The man stumbled forward two steps, fighting to stay on his feet and bring his rifle around for a shot at Blue. Blue fired again. The man pitched sideways and became a motionless shadow on the ground.
        Another rifle crashed out from the rock rubble piled high against the base of the mesa. The slug spattered against the boulder behind which Blue had positioned himself. Clayburn turned swiftly to his job, slashing his knife through one of the ropes stretched taut between the two wagons, then cutting the other rope.
        He went in through the opening, entering the corral formed by all the wagons. The mules were already stirring nervously, frightened by the gunfire. Clayburn smacked and elbowed the nearest ones to start them out through the opening he'd made. Then he slipped on to the next opening, slashed the ropes, and got the mules started through there.
        Repeating this at a third space between wagons, Clayburn moved on and climbed up on a wagon wheel so he wouldn't get trampled. He drew his Colt and began firing it into the ground, showering dirt against the legs of the milling animals and terrifying them to more speed in their efforts to escape from the corral.
        Two more rifle shots cracked from the rock rubble at the base of the mesa. This time they were fired at Clayburn. Which was foolish. The guard there couldn't see Clayburn; he was just firing at the sound of Clayburn's Colt. All he accomplished was to kill one mule and start another stamping and screaming with pain-which hurried still more the terrified exodus of the rest.
        As the last of the mules stampeded out of the openings Clayburn had created, Blue began firing at groups of them that showed an inclination to slow down. The mules scattered as they ran, and the boulders scattered them still more. Some headed for the mesa, but not many. More ran into the canyons to the left and right. The largest number of mules headed straight for the slope, down it, and vanished from sight.
        Clayburn left the wagon corral and sprinted after them, joined as he reached the boulders by Blue. The guard at the base of the mesa fired after them. But distance and darkness were against him. None of his shots came near either Blue or Clayburn.
        They sighted the mules ahead of them as they went down the slope. Some were still running away, others were milling around. Several gunshots encouraged the milling ones to follow those that were racing away. They scattered in a number of directions, one group following the dry river bed, other groups dispersing into the area's maze of crosscut canyons and gullies.
        The first streaks of predawn grayness fingered the sky when Clayburn and Blue rode away. They'd done what they'd come to do. It would take Adler's men most of the day to track down all the mules and gather them in. And they'd be tired mules. By the time Adler got his wagon rolling again, Clayburn estimated, Cora Sorel's outfit would be at least a full day ahead of him.
        There was no longer any chance of Adler's outfit catching up and passing